


Up City Streets

by AxisMage



Series: Country Boys [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Businessman Bruce Wayne, Farmer Clark Kent, Fem!Dick Grayson - Freeform, Female Dick Grayson, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 12:23:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16218968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxisMage/pseuds/AxisMage
Summary: Bruce Wayne arrives in Smallville, Kansas, without his wallet or his phone. Where did he leave them? In his daughter Dixie´s purse, of course. Now, while that seems crazy and dumb, considering the original plan was to take the same plane to Kansas, it makes a whole lot more of sense. Except they didn´t end up taking the same plane, and now Bruce is stranded, Dixies plane is delayed, but thank the lord for tall farmers in Timberland boots who stop their truck in the middle of the road to steal some cologne





	Up City Streets

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea has been playing around in my head for a couple of weeks now. While I´ve heard Alan Jackson´s [Country Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JnX2BoZE9w4) a lot of times before, it wasn´t until a couple of weeks ago that I paid some decent attention to the lyrics and well, this came out XD
> 
> Thank you so, so, so much to [Lorelain Michaelis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LorelainMichaelis) for being my beta and bestie and just not throwing me off a cliff for all the crap I pull LOL <3

The more minutes he spent standing there waiting for someone to give him an answer, the more he hated this trip and the more he understood why Alfred had sent him alone – or nearly alone – to the forsaken place that was the boring town of Smallville, Kansas. Sure, Bruce had some business to do and places to evaluate and a country scene to visit, but it didn’t mean he liked it, or that it was being easy.

Because it wasn’t.

Dixie´s plane had gotten delayed three hours and he had made the horrible and so very stupid mistake of leaving his wallet and cell phone with her. It was pure luck he had managed to keep his passport inside his suit jacket. Otherwise, he would have been in even bigger trouble than he was right now.

At first he hadn’t been the least bit alarmed. He and Dixie had had to change their pre-programmed flight the following day because of the horrible storm that hit Gotham from one day to the other and looked like it wanted to stay for at least a week. The airport was going to be closed for at least two days and the last authorized flights were to leave two hours after Bruce was informed. Needless to say, Bruce had called Dixie while screaming around and about and Alfred got the luggage ready and agreed to meet her at the airport in half an hour.

They both managed to make it in time to the airport, and given Dixie had remembered to bring a carry on and a purse and he had only brought a suitcase that he´d already checked in, he handed most of his things except for his passport over to her. After all, they were going to share a flight and he trusted his daughter enough to not lose his things.

Except they had then been hit by a wave of chaos and pure and utter panic involving not enough seats in the booked plane and Bruce not being able to handle that much stressed people in one place, then only one seat being available and Dixie literally pushing him forward to grab it and then taking his arm as if he were an old man already and shoving him into the line of people about to board the plane.

“I can survive this heat wave, you can´t. Get to Kansas safely!” she´d yelled at him as she waved him goodbye and then went over to… either fight or ask for a seat on the next flight, Bruce wasn’t sure what to expect in that anxious bloodbath. Dixie had come back a few minutes later and screamed a number at him, her flight number, he supposed, and he managed to give her a nod before she was swept away by the crowd and he was pushed forward in line. He remembered that number during all his flight, too focused on not forgetting it to notice anything else.

It wasn’t until he had landed in Kansas and thought about calling Alfred or leaving Dixie a text that he touched the pockets of his jacket only to realize they were horribly and obviously very empty except for his passport.

The man who handed him his suitcase because he was too frozen in place to reach out for it by himself asked him if he was okay and if he needed a doctor. He had pretty much run away when Bruce had given him one of his _glares_. After such discovery, Bruce was in no mood to even pretend he was feeling friendly.

After taking his suitcase and opening it to confirm that, as his memory informed him, he had left his things in Dixie´s purse, he had taken to finding a little screen that told him when was Dixie´s plane arriving. Seeing the ‘delayed’ sign next to the number Dixie had yelled made his heart drop to his stomach. Finding an employee and hearing them say the plane was delayed two hours at the very least – wait, no, three hours – and that no, they couldn’t contact the plane´s pilot and crew just so an angry customer could contact a passenger on board made a vein in his forehead pulse. The employee had then asked if he needed to be taken to a clinic or if he should call for a doctor on the speaker given Bruce was not looking so good.

Bruce had tried to keep his cool, he really had tried, and he thought he succeeded, at least for the most part. He managed to grit out a polite thank you before turning and thinking what to do. After standing there for an eternity and reaching no conclusion, he started dragging his suitcase forward, keeping his eyes on the front doors. The airport was tiny, especially compared to the one in Gotham, and it matched all the planes Bruce had seen and the one he´d taken here. Everything about Smallville was… small, even smaller than he thought, and with the airport being so minuscule and the town not being that much bigger…

Just as he expected, when he stepped outside, there were no taxis in sight, and no one screaming in his face and offering rides and lodging.

Bruce´s eye began twitching. No taxis. Well, not that they´d do him any good since he had absolutely no money on him. Sure, he could wait for one and get in and convince them he was Bruce Wayne, Gotham celebrity, millionaire, entrepreneur and that he did have money… he had just left it in his daughter´s purse and can the driver please take him to the hotel and leave a bank account number so Bruce might pay in full for the ride as soon as he could.

Yeah, that wasn’t an option. The driver would probably ask him if he needed a doctor too or agree to drive him and take him to the police station instead. Which, if push came to shove, might work out, but he´d only get a call and he wouldn´t be sure if he had to call Alfred or somebody else and he didn’t know if he´d have enough time to give Alfred the bank account number and then he´d get taken into a cell and… never mind, it was a bad idea.

So what was left? He had to wait for Dixie´s plane to arrive? He had to sit in one of those uncomfortable chairs or out here in the horrible and bright afternoon sun?

He might have lost it a bit right then, at least from other´s perspective. It wasn’t like he kicked his suitcase _hard_ or more than once. Maybe it was the wind. Or gravity. Whatever it was, when the suitcase toppled over and spilled all its contents into the ground – because apparently he hadn´t zipped it back up as he should have – he might have muttered something. Probably a curse. Maybe a whine. Maybe both things at the same time.

 

* * *

 

 

The cake smelled even better than he had thought it would. When placing the order a few weeks ago for the custom-made tiramisu, Clark had known it would taste and smell amazing. As he made his way downtown with the cake riding shotgun and breathing in the sweet and heavy smell of coffee and almost tasting the creaminess of the icing on his tongue, he knew this was even more heavenly that he had hoped for. Pa was going to love it. Conner was going to smile. He was sure even Ma would like it, and it had been actual hell to convince her to let him order the cake instead of letting her bake it. Ma had agreed in the end, but only if they had the cake after her pecan pie. And if Clark stuck the candles in the pie and if everybody sung happy birthday with her pie instead of the cake. It was as best a deal as he was going to get, so Clark had said yes. He didn’t regret it, and he was pretty sure no one at home was going to regret it either.

It had been a good idea, and that had just made his day better. He´d dropped off the boxes of fresh tomatoes, carrots and other vegetables Mr. Rogers had requested for his store, gotten a picture of a cat drawn by his daughter as a gift, then gone on to drop other the other weekly shipments on the short route. The owners had made his morning a good one. The cake had made his afternoon an even greater day, and he was  going to make sure the good energy and day overall carried onto dinner and beyond. It was a special day overall, and if he wanted to make it excellent…

Oh. But there was someone having a not so excellent day right up ahead.

He slammed on the brakes, managing to stop his truck a few feet away from the clothes and bottles of cologne now spread halfway into the road.

Clark let out a gasp, was out of his truck and picking up the bottles of cologne that were still rolling on the ground before he even realized what he was doing. He stood up, holding an armful of clothes and colognes in his hands and glanced around, trying to find the person who had dropped their things.

“If you´re going to steal all that, standing and looking around looking like you´re lost is not the best strategy to do so,” a deep and obviously annoyed voice said.

Clark turned, found who he assumed was the owner of the voice walking towards him with another armful of clothes, and he looked annoyed all right. Or rather, more than annoyed, he looked ready to murder someone.

Clark wondered if he was going to be that someone.

“Uh,” he began, and knew he was blushing as soon as he uttered the simple word and the man´s sharp blue eyes snapped up to meet his. “I wasn’t going to steal…”

“Well it sure looked like you were.”

“But I wasn’t! I swear, I just came out to help.”

“And if you still plan on stealing all that, at least leave the Boss bottle behind. I am quite fond of that particular smell. You are free to take the rest of the…”

“I wasn’t going to steal your shirts, or your cologne!” Clark said again, then looked down at his bundle. “Although this seem pretty good quality, both the shirts and the cologne.”

The man gave the loudest sigh Clark had ever heard.

Clark winced, then tried to rearrange the shirts. “Um, would you like me to help you…?”

“No. I don’t want nor need your help. If you´re not going to steal anything give me back my things and get your car out of the way. You´re stopping traffic.”

Clark glanced at his truck, then the road behind it. Nothing. He glanced to the other side of the rode. Empty as well.

“We don’t get a lot of traffic here in Smallville,” he said softly.

The man looked ready to commit murder again. He walked up to Clark, seemed to resent the two or three inches Clark had over him as soon as they were close.

“You don’t get much taxis or buses here either, do you?” the man muttered after a few seconds.

Clark thought about it, shook his head. “Buses come by every hour, and there are taxi companies but usually you hire them beforehand or call once you´re here. I find out the number if you…” he didn’t get to finish, given the man looked like he´d been slapped and pursed his lips. Clark frowned. “Or if you don´t want to call a taxi…”

“I want but I can´t.”

 He blinked. “Well, if you let me find the number or if you´re too shy to call yourself I can…”

“No, you don’t understand. I would like to call a taxi, but I can´t,” the man muttered, hands balling into fists. “I don’t have my wallet or phone with me.”

Clark blinked again, then looked down at the open suitcase and all its spilled contents, then the bundle in his arms. He hadn’t seen either item yet.

“They´re not here,” the man huffed in complete annoyance, then crossed his arms. “My… my daughter has them.”

Clark perked up. “Oh, so you´re waiting for her!”

Another huff. It was both weird and adorable to see such a serious and big man huff like that. “Yes,” the man almost spit out. “I´m waiting. For her plane to arrive. Because it got delayed. Three hours. At the very least.”

Oh. Clark´s face fell, and he looked at the ground for a couple of seconds, then up again, then off to one side. The man kept staring at him that whole time, and he wished he could blame the silent pressure for what he said next, but truthfully, it was more his natural desire to help people mixed with not knowing what to say.

“Why don’t you come over to the farm and wait for her there? We can have a cup of coffee or tea meanwhile.”

The man´s eyes widened as soon as he said that, and Clark winced, raised up a hand. “Sorry. That… that didn’t quite come out as I wanted to. What I was trying to say was… um. I can drive you to your hotel. That´s what I meant. I finished up my route and deliveries for today so it´d really be no problem at all.”

The man´s eyes widened even more, then narrowed, and then he looked… he looked like he was having the beginnings of a panic attack.

Clark dropped the clothes and cologne on top of the open suitcase and took a step forward, mouth open to utter a question, but the man took a step back and made him freeze in place.

“Uh…” Clark started, and only got more worried when a slow but steady dark red blush started creeping up the man´s neck and to his cheeks. It was painful to watch, so painful Clark didn’t hear what the man finally said.

“What?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.

The man´s eyes darkened, and he looked away, as if trying to calm himself down. “I said… I said I don’t remember.”

“Your… your wallet and phone? You said you´d left them with your daughter.”

The man looked pained. “No, Mr. Kansas Stereotype, I said I don’t remember what was the name of my hotel, so even if I was willing to accept the ride, I wouldn’t know where to go.”

Clark looked down at himself, frowned. “Hey, now that´s kind of rude. I´m not…”

“Six foot-three extremely friendly man with dimples and an accent, driving a truck with empty vegetable cartons on the back, wearing a checkered shirt, old comfortable jeans and…” The man glanced down. “Timberland cowboy boots. I bet there´s a hat hidden in the car. You were saying?”

Clark´s frown deepened. “Okay, maybe I am a bit too Kansas, or you foreigners´ concept of Kansas, but still, you´re being rude, and I only want to help. I get you´re mad, I would be mad too, but that´s no reason to be mean, is it?” he asked, crossing his arms.

The man scoffed. He rolled his eyes. He clicked his tongue. After a couple of seconds he let out a groan. “Apologies,” he muttered. “It just… it has not been an easy day. I am sorry.”

And Clark was back to smiling. “Don’t worry,” he said, then knelt down and started folding the clothes and putting them back in the suitcase. The man hesitated, then sighed, then pulled up his pants leg and also knelt, albeit slowly and… almost delicately to start folding the clothes as well.

Clark glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “The suit does look expensive. I wouldn’t want to wrinkle it either.”

The man frowned. “Brioni is not that expensive,” he said, then seemed to realize what he´d just said. “But I see your point.”

Clark didn’t know who or what Brioni was, all he knew was that the suit was more expensive than probably the truck and all the Kent farm together, which did fit the man´s image. He looked… rich.

They finished peaking up the clothes, Clark had to refold the ones the man had tried to do, and then he zipped it up, got up and held out a hand without thinking.

Much to his amazement and before he could apologize, the man took it and rose to his feet, then grabbed the suitcase. He took a deep breath. “I suppose… I could use a ride, and if you knew where I could find a phone with enough credit or a landline to do some calls to my butler back home and also the head mechanic. He better have the company´s jet fixed for this week. I will not go through this hassle again.”

Butler. Jet. Brioni suit. Oh yeah, this man was rich all right.

“I´m Clark Kent, by the way,” Clark said, taking the suitcase out of the man´s grip gently and holding out his hand. “Or Kansas Stereotype, whichever you prefer. And you´re Mr. Millionaire, I´m assuming?”

The man gave him a look, but shook his hand. “Bruce Wayne. Billionaire.”

“Wish I could correct people like that.” Clark grinned, then threw the suitcase onto the back of the truck and went to the passenger side, opened the door. “And what brings you to the small town of… well, Smallville?

The man – Bruce – gave him another look, let out a huff, but he climbed inside the truck. Clark closed the door and went to his own side, climbed in and glanced at Bruce once they were on the road again. “Are you okay over there?”

“I found your cowboy hat. And yes, thank you. Do you always carry cakes with you? Do you deliver both vegetables and cakes?”

“Oh no,” Clark said with a laugh. “No, only groceries. The cake is for a small party today.”

“Birthday?” Clark nodded. Bruce frowned. “Ah. Are you running late? Is it really all right if I go with you? I´d hate to interrupt or… crash your little event.”

Clark laughed again. He shook his head and reached around the cake to pat Bruce´s thigh and making him jump, but he ignored the last bit. “Our birthday person won´t be home for a couple more hours. If your daughter hasn’t arrived by then, I´d like to invite you to have dinner with us. It´s only family and literally a couple of friends, the best food you´ll find in Smallville and also the best cake.”

Bruce frowned, grunted. He didn’t say no.

Clark took it as a good sign. “You´ll have tons of fun, you´ll see. And you haven’t answered my question. What brings a man like you to Smallville?”

“You´re nice but very, very, very annoying, Kansas.”

“You´re being very, very, very rude again, Mr. Billionaire.”

Bruce grunted again, but when Clark turned to look at him, he saw the beginning of a smile.

“Business,” he said after a few seconds.

“What type of business?”

“Are you really going ask me all these questions?”

Clark shrugged.

Bruce sighed. “This is going to be a long ride,” he muttered, and felt his eye twitch when the truck slowed down a bit despite the road being empty.

“Kansas, I swear…”

**Author's Note:**

> Now, if this seems incomplete... it´s because it is LOL. The other part of the story, what happened at the farm and whether Bruce and Dixie managed to meet each other in the end can be found on the Conner Kent/Dick Grayson fic that will be the other part of this series. Is it necessary to read it? Of couse not XD you read what you wanna read, which is why I decided to split this story into two separate part, but if you do wanna give the superwing pairing a chance and see how this ends, you can just click on the next part of this series xD
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


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